Words Once Spoken Never Forgotten
by Collegekid2006
Summary: When Shawn and Henry have yet another one of their patented fights, someone takes it too far...
1. Chapter 1

"Shawn, forget it." Henry growled, trying to walk away.

"What's the big deal?" Shawn demanded, following his father into the kitchen.

"It's _not_ a big deal." Henry agreed. "So drop it."

But he knew that Shawn wasn't going drop it.

Shawn never dropped anything until he got his way…

Well, _this_ time he wasn't getting his way.

"It's _one_ dinner, Dad!" Shawn pestered him. "She'll be in town for _one_ night, and she wants the three of us to have dinner. Like an actual, semi-normal, somewhat passably functional familial unit!"

Henry just shook his head and raised his shoulders impassively, but Shawn noticed that they tensed as he dropped them again.

"Shawn, she's your mom. If you want to have dinner with her, go ahead. I don't care. But I'm not going. So. Drop. It."

"Come on! It's been fifteen years!"

Henry crossed his arms firmly, completely unmoved by his son's plea.

"Shawn, do you even know what a divorce _is_?"

"Yeah, Dad. I'm painfully aware, actually. Thanks for asking."

"I'm not going."

"_She'll _go!"

"What can I say, Shawn?" Henry muttered. "I guess she's the bigger person."

"She always was." Shawn snapped angrily.

Henry's eyes flashed as they locked with his son's.

Suddenly, they both knew they were in dangerous territory.

And they both knew that neither of them were going to back down.

Not this time.

"Watch it, Kid," Henry warned, his jaw clenching.

"I'm just saying!" Shawn continued, not heeding his father's admonition. "I don't see why after fifteen years the two of you can't be in the same room for an hour!"

"Because that's the thing about divorce, Shawn. We don't _have_ to be in the same room anymore. That's why we _got_ a divorce in the first place."

"It's _one _dinner!"

"Drop it. Now."

Henry's voice was suddenly eerily quiet.

Shawn knew he should listen for once and just drop it, but he was in too deep to turn back now.

"No." He returned shortly. "It's not _my _fault you're an obsessive workaholic with massive control issues. It's not _my _fault you couldn't make it work. Why the hell shouldn't _I_ be able to talk to both _my_ parents at the same damn table?"

"Really, Shawn? It's not your fault?" Henry asked quietly.

The room went dead silent.

Shawn's eyes widened ever so slightly.

They both saw it coming now…

It was too late to stop it.

"Shut up." Shawn growled.

"No, no." Henry insisted far too coolly, sitting down at the table.

His eyes were suddenly ice as he glared up at his son.

"Do you want to talk about fault, Kid?" He asked, feeling the knife twisting with every word. "Let's talk about fault. Do you know what the first fight your mom and I ever had was? I mean, the first _real_ fight?"

"No."

"It was about what to name you, Kid. We had a knock-down, drag-out fight about your damn name. I wanted Henry. She wanted Shawn. Guess who won _that_ one. We never fought before that, Kid. We never fought before _you_. So, you see, if my marriage didn't work out, Shawn, it wasn't _my_ damn fault."

Even as the words came pouring out of Henry's mouth, he tried to stop them.

He knew he could never take them back…

Not this time.

Shawn's jaw clenched, his eyes the most painful mixture of hurt and anger Henry had ever seen.

His hands were trembling as he slowly turned around and walked out of the kitchen without so much as a glance back at his father.

Henry stayed seated at the table until he heard the screen door slam and Shawn's motorcycle peel away. Then he slowly stood up and walked to the back door.

Usually, after a fight, he listened for the sound of the motorcycle turning around and coming back.

Usually, after a fight, he stood by the back door, knowing that Shawn would be back…eventually…

But this time, he didn't bother listening.

This time, he didn't wait.

This time, he locked the door and silently went upstairs.


	2. Chapter 2

_It's not my damn fault…_

_It's not my damn fault…_

The words resonated in Shawn's mind, each echo slicing through his body like a razor.

His fingers tightened around the handlebars of his motorcycle as he accelerated, not even knowing where he was going.

He had no where to go this time…

He just knew that he wasn't going back to his father's.

_I'm not going back…_

_I'm never going back…_

_I'm never going back…_

But he also knew that he couldn't go to his apartment, either.

Not now…

He just couldn't face his phone…and that blinking red message light that meant his father had called…

He knew it was there…waiting for him…taunting him…

He just couldn't face it.

He couldn't talk to his father.

He _wouldn't_ talk to him.

He wouldn't even listen to the voice mail.

There was nothing Henry could possibly say that he wanted to hear.

_Never again…_Shawn told himself firmly, meaning it with every ounce of his being.

_We're done._

_This time, we're done._

He smiled bitterly, a powerful surge of hate replacing any pain he had been feeling a moment ago.

_We're done…_

_I'll never screw up his damn life again…_

_Never…_

For a moment, that thought comforted him.

For a moment, the finality of the decision was even something of a relief, cauterizing all his old wounds as if they had never existed.

But then, another thought struck him.

A thought that disturbed him to his very core.

_…Then why does it even matter?_

_ Just go home…_

_Delete the message…_

_…If there is a message…_

_ The light probably isn't blinking, anyway…_

_Not this time…_

For some reason, instead of being the cathartic thought he had intended it to be, this knowledge just made Shawn's jaw clench even tighter as he brought his bike up to speeds he had never even attempted before.

He didn't go home.

For at least an hour, he didn't go anywhere.

He just rode.

Finally, he ended up at Psych.

There was just no where else to go…

And at least he knew there wouldn't be any blinking red lights at Psych.

Gus was already there when he arrived, busily working on the computer.

He glanced up as Shawn walked in.

"Gus, we're moving." Shawn declared before Gus could say anything.

"What?" Gus asked, clearly perplexed. "What are you talking about? Moving offices? We can't just move offices, Shawn. We have three months left on our lease."

"No," Shawn snapped, his temper noticeably shorter than usual. "_Moving_, Gus. Moving…away. _Far_ away. I don't even care where! You pick!"

Gus was completely baffled now. He switched the computer off and stood up.

"What are you talking about? I'm not moving anywhere. I like my apartment. I like my job. Why would I want to move?"

"Fine!" Shawn was almost shouting at Gus now, except his eyes were too far away to actually be shouting at Gus.

Gus was barely even a part of this conversation.

"Shawn--"

"Never mind! I'll send you a post card." Shawn muttered, marching back toward the door.

Gus quickly followed him outside.

"Shawn! What the heck is going on?" He demanded. "What do you mean you're moving? You can't flake out on Psych on me! I have money invested in this, Shawn!"

Shawn whirled around, his eyes blazing at his best friend.

"So I screwed up _your_ goddamn life, too?"

This time, there was no doubt about it.

He was shouting at Gus.

"I didn't say that!" Gus protested helplessly. "What--"

"Why the hell not? I screwed up everyone else's! Why not yours?"

"Whose life did you screw up?" Gus asked quietly, finally realizing this had nothing to do with him or Psych.

"No one's," Shawn muttered, stalking back to his bike. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Shawn--"

But Shawn wasn't listening anymore. He already had his helmet on and had started the motorcycle up again.

"I'll send you a post card, Gus." He mumbled again before leaving his bewildered, dumbfounded best friend in a cloud of dust for what he was sure was the very last time.


	3. Chapter 3

The lamp was broken…

_Still._

Of course, it had been broken for months.

Henry had been meaning to fix it…he had just never gotten around to it.

But as he locked the back door and slowly climbed the stairs to his bedroom, it suddenly seemed imperative that he fix the damn lamp.

He sighed heavily as dragged out his toolbox, refusing to acknowledge the undulating waves of regret that were beginning to wash over him.

_…it wasn't my damn fault…_

_…it wasn't my damn fault…_

He grabbed the pliers and got to work, forcing the rumbling thoughts out of his head.

He couldn't think about the fight right now.

He couldn't think about Shawn…that look in his eyes…

Not when the lamp needed to be fixed.

He had to concentrate on the lamp.

It didn't take him long to replace the wiring once his mind was set on the task.

Not as long as he'd hoped it would.

As he finished the job and tested the good-as-new lamp, flicking it on and off, on an off, he was already trying to assemble a mental list of other chores he had been avoiding…other things around the house that needed to be fixed…

Anything else he could be doing besides sitting there not calling his son.

But he couldn't think of anything.

Nothing in his house was broken.

Nothing in his house was damaged or in disrepair.

Everything was perfect…

He sighed again as he put his toolbox away, for the first time noticing how quiet the house was.

It was no quieter than usual, of course, but the silence suddenly seemed to loom over him like an accusing finger.

He couldn't escape the regret anymore.

He couldn't escape the image of Shawn's face…those wounded, piercing eyes…

He knew what he should do.

He knew what he was supposed to do.

He even glanced over at the phone a few times, almost as if he thought merely having the notion that he should call Shawn was as good as actually calling him…

But he didn't make a move to pick it up.

He just stood in the middle of the room, looking around and trying with every ounce of his strength to think of something else that needed to be fixed…

Anything else…

_Anything but that…_

Suddenly, the phone rang, startling him out of his daze.

He let it keep ringing.

He almost didn't answer it at all…

But he knew it wasn't Shawn.

It couldn't be Shawn…

"What?" He barked, finally picking it up on the fourth ring.

It was Gus.

"Hey, Mr. Spencer," he greeted, the concern in his voice already audible in just those few words. "Do you know what the heck is going on with Shawn?"

Henry stiffened, ready to just hang up right then.

But he didn't.

"How the hell should I know anything about Shawn?" He demanded hotly.

Gus hesitated before answering, already sensing he was treading a dangerous line.

"I don't know…" he said slowly. "He didn't say anything to you about moving?"

Henry's heart stopped.

"What?"

"Moving," Gus repeated himself. "And I think he's serious…he just took off on his bike…he said he'd send me a post card. He didn't say anything to you?"

"No." Henry snapped, his stomach twisting around itself. "He didn't say anything to me."

There was another long pause on the line.

Finally, Gus cleared his throat.

"Did he screw up your life?" He asked quietly, knowing he would never have the courage to ask that question if he was in the same room with Henry.

But Henry couldn't sock him over the phone…

"Stay out of it, Gus." Henry intoned warningly, unable to hide his surprise at the point-blank accusation.

"Stay out of _what_?" Gus shouted, finally at the end of his rope. "I'm not _in_ anything! I just want to know why my best friend walked into our office, told me out of nowhere that we're moving, and then accused me of thinking he screwed up my life when I didn't jump up and follow him! And now he's gone, and as far as I can tell he's not coming back! I just want to know what the _hell_ is going on! So tell me! Did Shawn screw up your life?"

"Gus—"

"Did he?"

Henry huffed, knowing it was pointless to avoid the question.

Gus could be just as tenacious as Shawn when he was in the right mood.

And he was definitely in the right mood now.

"No." He admitted finally.

"Did you have any plans to tell _him _that?" Gus demanded.

_Tell him what? _Henry wondered dully.

_Tell him it wasn't his fault?_

_Tell him I don't blame him...I never blamed him?_

_Tell him that he's the reason I moved back from Florida?_

_That he's the one thing in life I did right?_

_Tell him he can't leave…_

_He can't…_

His grip tightened around the phone.

_He's already gone…_

_He already left…_

_Again…_

_He left again..._

His eyes narrowed as he realized that he'd lost his son…just like during the divorce…

And this time, he had no one else to blame for it.

It was his own damn fault.

"Well?" Gus pressed when the silence became too much for him. "Are you going to tell him?"

Henry could barely get the words out through his clenched teeth.

"No."


	4. Chapter 4

Shawn came to a stop outside the house, still not exactly sure how he'd ended up there.

For a long time, he just sat in the driveway, wondering if he was really going to do it…if he could really go inside…

_It's been four years…_He realized suddenly.

_I haven't seen her in four years…_

_…Not counting birthday cards and the odd phone call…_

_…Why am I even here…?_

But even as he asked himself the question, he already knew the answer.

He was there because he had no where else to go.

He was there because, ever since he was a little kid, there had always been just one person he could turn to who always fully understood what it meant to be pissed off at his father.

His mother.

_But I'm not twelve years old anymore…_

_I shouldn't be running to my mommy…_

That thought almost did it.

He almost turned around and drove away…but it was too late for that now.

She had already seen him from the window.

The front door opened a moment later, and she was by his side almost before he could blink.

"I thought that was you, Kiddo." Mel smiled warmly, wrapping her arms around her son. "It's so good to see you! But what are you doing here?"

Shawn returned the hug stiffly.

"I was in the neighborhood…" he mumbled unconvincingly.

"You were in the neighborhood?"

She stepped back and looked at him appraisingly, her mother's instincts already working overtime.

"Yeah."

"You were in a neighborhood five hours outside Santa Barbara that you haven't been anywhere near in…what, four years now?" She pressed, refusing to buy his far too simple explanation.

Shawn just shrugged limply.

"Apparently."

She crossed her arms, finally forcing his eyes to meet hers.

That one, brief look was all she needed to confirm her suspicions.

"Shawn, are you going to tell me what's really going on, or do I have to call Gus and find out for myself?" She demanded.

"Nothing's going on! Really! I--"

She cut him off with a sharp jab in his ribs.

"If you tell me you were in the neighborhood one more time, Kiddo, I'm going to smack you upside your head. You may be thirty-two years old, but I'm still your mother. Get your butt in the house. Now."

Mel pushed him gently towards the door.

Shawn sighed in defeat, knowing he couldn't keep lying to her.

He could never lie to her for long.

Somehow, she always knew…

Once they were inside, it took two minutes for the whole story to come tumbling out of him.

"He said _what_?" Mel gawked, actually laughing when Shawn finished.

Of all the possible reactions Shawn had expected his mother to have upon hearing about the single most traumatic day in his life, laughter didn't even make the Top 9.

"What the hell is so funny?" He demanded resentfully, but his ire didn't seem to bother Mel.

"Your father's selective memory, for one."

"Selective memory?"

"Kiddo," Mel laughed again. "I was there. No way in hell was _that_ our first fight."

"First _real _fight." Shawn corrected her.

"Trust me. All our fights were _real_ fights. And there were plenty of them before you."

"Then why would he say--"

Mel just shrugged, her arms spread helplessly.

"I don't know. You'll have to ask him."

Shawn scowled at the very thought.

"_That's_ not going to happen. I'm never going back."

"Never?" Mel asked with raised eyebrows.

"Never." Shawn repeated stubbornly.

"Do you know how many times you've sat at this table and told me that? 'I'm never going back, Mom!'...'I hate him, Mom!'…but you always go back, Shawn. He's your father."

"This time I mean it!" Shawn insisted. "I'm not going back!"

"Okay, okay…" Mel raised her hands in surrender. "You're not going back…"

For an an all too brief minute, Shawn thought he had won…

But then Mel cleared her throat.

"What about that famous psychic detective agency I keep reading about in the papers?" She asked quietly. "You can't just walk away from that."

"Why not?" Shawn scoffed, thrown off by the change of subject.

"Because you don't want to."

She stated it so coolly, with such an unassuming confidence, that Shawn had to snort.

"Maybe I do." He muttered, knowing she could spot the fib before it even left his lips.

"No, you don't," she shook her head, not taken in for a moment.

"You don't know that."

Mel rolled her eyes as she stood up and strolled calmly into the living room without another word.

Shawn remained seated at the kitchen table, somehow knowing she would be back with her rebuttal before he could get up and follow her.

She reappeared a few moments later, a large book tucked under her arm.

"Yes, I _do_ know that." She said firmly, dropping the book on the table in front of Shawn with an emphatic _thud_. "And _this_ is how I know."

She opened it to the first page with a flourish.

The page was completely blank, except for a Xeroxed copy of a newspaper article taped in the center.

It only took one cursory glance for Shawn to recognize it.

It was an article about the first case he ever solved for the SBPD as a psychic detective.

"Where'd you get _that_?" He mumbled, turning the page, only to discover yet another Xeroxed article, this one featuring a small black-and-white photo of him.

"See that smile?" Mel asked quietly, running her thumb over the fading picture. "I know that smile, Shawn. I used to wipe spaghetti sauce off that smile. You're happy, Kiddo. You're happy being a psychic detective. You're not going to give it up that easily. You couldn't if you tried."

But Shawn didn't hear her. His eyes were running over the page, soaking in every printed word.

He slowly flipped through the rest of the book, each new article bringing back countless memories of cases long since forgotten.

"Did you keep every article ever printed about Psych?" He asked as he finally reached the last page.

Mel shook her head, smiling to herself.

"It wasn't me, Kiddo."

Shawn glanced up, perplexed.

"It wasn't you?"

"These are all local Santa Barbara papers. We don't get these up here."

"Then how--"

Mel closed the book again, her hand gently resting on top of Shawn's.

"How do you think? Your father. He sends me every one, always Xeroxed."

"Why Xeroxed?" Shawn asked, afraid he already knew the answer.

"Because," Mel smiled. "He keeps the originals, Shawn."


	5. Chapter 5

"All available units, please respond to an accident scene at the corner of Garden and State."

Henry could barely hear the voices crackling through the static on his semi-legal police scanner, but he was still grateful for the noise as he threw open the hood of his truck and grabbed his toolbox.

Without those cool, professional voices hissing and popping comfortingly in the background, the garage was just too quiet.

For three days now, it had been too damn quiet.

"…two-vehicle collision, at least one person seriously injured…"

Henry examined the engine, heaving a disappointed sigh as he realized he had replaced just about every conceivable part of his truck over the last few days.

There wasn't anything left to fix.

_I guess I could replace the sparkplugs…_he thought drearily.

_…Of course, I don't have any sparkplugs…_

_…I could go buy some sparkplugs…_

"…motorcycle missed a curve, plowed into a truck…"

At the word _motorcycle_, Henry's ears perked.

He dropped the wrench he was clutching back into the toolbox and stood completely still, straining to understand the words being spoken through the sporadic bursts of static.

"No i.d….male, 30's…unconscious…severe head and neck injuries… Santa Barbara Community Hospital…"

Henry quickly switched the police scanner off, his stomach lurching.

_No…_he told himself firmly, knowing even as the fear gripped him that he had no reason to think it was Shawn.

It couldn't be Shawn.

There were hundreds of motorcycles in Santa Barbara…

And Shawn wasn't even _in_ Santa Barbara, anyway.

…at least, as far as Henry knew…

_No._

_It's not him…_

_It can't be him…_

But it was no use.

He didn't even listen to own assurances.

Even as he told himself it wasn't Shawn, he was already getting into his truck and pulling out of the garage, his heart in his throat.

_It's not Shawn…_

_It can't be Shawn…_

Ten minutes later, he arrived at the accident scene, which was already swarming with police cars and ambulances.

Sitting in the front of one of the squad cars, her legs hanging out of the open door as she talked on the radio, was Karen Vick.

Henry jumped out of his truck and ran to the edge of the yellow police tape.

"Karen!" He called, cupping his hands over his mouth.

She looked up, her brow wrinkling when she spied him.

"Henry?" She asked, putting the radio down and walking over to him. "What the heck are you—"

"Is it Shawn?" He demanded, cutting her off.

"What?" She was really perplexed now. "Is _what_ Shawn?"

"The accident…I heard it over my scanner. Is it Shawn?"

"The motorcycle? Of course it isn't Shawn. What would make you think it was Shawn?"

But Henry didn't hear the question.

He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, relief flooding through his entire body.

"God! You're shaking, Henry!" Karen gasped. "What's going on?"

For a long moment, Henry didn't answer.

He just breathed.

"I have to find him, Karen." He said finally.

"Find _who_?"

"Shawn."

"Is he missing?"

"No," Henry shook his head. "He's not missing…but I have to find him."

"Why?"

"Because." Henry snapped, turning away. "It was my damn fault, Karen. It was my damn fault."

"_What_ was your damn fault?" Karen called after him as he walked back to his truck, his hands still shaking as he climbed back in and pulled away.

Finally, she shook her head in amusement and slowly walked back to the squad car.

"What the heckwas _that_ about?"


	6. Chapter 6

Henry didn't hesitate before jumping out of his truck and marching to the front door.

He didn't care that it had been fifteen years.

He didn't care that he had no idea what he was going to say to his ex-wife.

He didn't even care that the last time they had spoken, they had both agreed it should be their last. Ever.

At this moment, all he cared about was the fact that she knew where Shawn was, and he didn't.

Mel didn't look the least bit surprised when she opened her door and found Henry standing there scowling, his hands jammed in his pockets.

She glanced down at her watch, then back up at him.

"Three days, Henry. That has to be a record. I've never seen your stubborn streak wear down so quickly."

"I don't have the monopoly on stubborn." He snapped back. "Is he here or not?"

"You drove five hours to ask me that? You could have called. You would have saved yourself a trip."

"And tip him off I knew where he was?" Henry snorted contemptuously. "Please, Mel. Give me some credit."

"He's your son. Not a fugitive you're tracking."

Henry glared, his jaw setting.

"Is he here or not?" He asked again.

Mel sighed, leaning against the door post.

"He left yesterday. He didn't know where he was going. Honestly, Henry…I thought he was going to go back. He didn't?"

"No."

"Then I don't know where he is."

Henry searched her face, but he already knew she was telling to truth.

She didn't know anything else.

He nodded stiffly and turned back to the truck, but stopped in his tracks when he heard her voice again.

"What the hell were you thinking, Henry?" She asked quietly.

He spun back around on his heel.

Their eyes locked, and suddenly it was fifteen years ago all over again…

"What?"

"You heard me. What the hell were you thinking? What's the matter with you, telling him something like that? If you wanted to hurt him, why didn't you just blow out his kneecaps with your damn gun?"

"Stay out of it, Mel."

She stepped outside, closing the door behind her.

"No. Not this time. I want to know! Why the hell would you lie about something like that to your son?"

"Lie?" Henry repeated, joining her on the porch. "I didn't lie about anything."

She stared at him in disbelief.

"Please, Henry! That fight wasn't our first fight! Not even our first _real_ fight! It wasn't the first _anything_! It wasn't even the first time I left you!"

"No," Henry agreed quietly. "It was just the first time you took my son with you when you went. It was just the first time I knew that if I ever pissed you off again, you'd leave and I'd never see him again…or ever."

Mel stopped, her arms dropping by her sides.

"Is that what you meant?" She asked.

Henry scowled at her.

"Don't do that. Don't play dumb. You know damn well that's why you won that fight. You know damn well that's why you _always _won after that, Mel. I couldn't afford to win."

He turned around again and walked down the steps.

Mel followed him quietly to the driveway and watched as he got in his truck.

"You can't blame me this time, Henry." She told him quietly through his window. "I didn't do this."

"I know."

"Henry…"

"What?"

She reached through the window of the truck, her hand grazing his.

"I hope you find him. I really do."


	7. Chapter 7

By the time Henry got back home, it was almost 2 o'clock in the morning.

He pulled into the driveway and sat, silently clutching the steering wheel as he tried to figure out what to do now.

He had already been by Shawn's apartment.

Twice.

He had already driven by Gus' apartment.

Twice.

He had even checked Psych.

There was just nowhere else to look…

Shawn was gone.

He sighed and finally got out of the truck, slowly making his way through the lawn to the back door.

Halfway up, he stopped suddenly.

Sitting on his back steps, calmly sipping a beer as he sifted through a stack of old newspapers, was Shawn.

Their eyes met across the yard.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything.

Finally, Shawn put his beer down and stood up, clearing his throat.

"You'd think an ex-cop would lock his door when he leaves." He said quietly, crossing the grass to meet his father.

He handed Henry the newspapers.

Henry didn't even have to look at them to know what they were.

"And if you want to hide something from me," Shawn added. "I wouldn't use the credenza downstairs. It took me two seconds to find them."

"I wasn't hiding anything." Henry answered hoarsely, tucking the papers under his arm without even a glance.

"Yeah. Right."

"Shawn--"

"What I can't figure out," Shawn pressed on, ignoring his father. "Is why you sent them to Mom. Why would you do that? You weren't just being nice. We both know that. So, what was it? Some kind of 'Screw you, he's here with me and not with you' thing? Maybe, 'See, he turned out more like me than you, so I win and you lose'?"

"No. Shawn—"

But Shawn wasn't listening.

He had no interest in anything his father had to say.

"I'm not a damn pawn, Dad. I'm not _your _damn pawn, and I'm not _her_ damn pawn."

"I know."

"It wasn't my fault. It had nothing to do with me."

"I know. That's not--"

"Then tell me why. Why did you send her the articles?"

Henry hesitated, but he knew that Shawn wasn't going anywhere until he got an answer.

"It wasn't a 'Screw you'." He replied finally.

Shawn crossed his arms and dug his heels into the soft earth, his eyes hardening.

"That's not an answer."

"What do you want from me, Kid?" Henry sighed tiredly, looking down at the ground.

"You know damn well what I want!" Shawn shouted, grabbing the newspapers back and rolling them up into a tight tube. "You know _damn_ well!"

"Shawn—"

"Tell me."

Henry knew this was it.

This was his last chance.

His last chance to make it right…

His last chance to say all the things he'd never said before…

If he screwed it up this time, Shawn was walking away and never coming back.

He sighed, running his hand over the back of his neck.

"She's your Mom, Shawn. I sent them to her because she's your mom…and I knew she'd be proud of you. That's all. I knew she'd be proud…"

"Then why do you keep the originals?"

He hesitated again, knowing what he had to say…knowing what Shawn was waiting to hear him say…

"Because…I'm proud, too, Kid." He mumbled, just loud enough for Shawn to hear.

In his shock, the tips of Shawn's fingers released the tightly-wound papers, unfurling them.

For a moment, Henry thought he was going to drop them.

For a full minute, neither of them spoke.

"It wasn't my fault." Shawn whispered finally, his eyes still wide.

"I know. It wasn't."

"It wasn't even your first fight. You're just a damn liar."

Henry sighed, finally able to look up from the grass into his son's face.

"Yeah, Kid." He almost smiled. "I'm a damn liar."


End file.
